The Edge of Nowhere
by CyberneticIdol
Summary: CH. 7 FINALLY UP! Fred loves George. Fred thinks that George loves him, but he isn't ever sure. This is NOT for those fond of fluff, lots of angsty and whoring and smoking and whatnot. TWINCEST! R&R, please.
1. Oh Sweet Dreaming

A/N: God, what IS wrong with me? But, well, twins are hot. So here's my warning: rated "arrrr" for pirate-related content. No, I'm kidding: it's rated R for all of the twincest, sex, and foul language.

Anyway. Man, don't you just love twins? If you don't, get the hell away. Please. 'Cause I happen to love them more than anything else on this world, except maybe twins covered in orange-flavoured, expensive dark chocolate. Licking it off each other. (You'll soon discover I have a dirty, dirty mind. DIRTY. X3) So, uhm, flames are funny so I won't discourage them. I will highly EN-courage positive feedback, as well. The more you review, the faster I write chapters, folks. Unless of course writers block hits me like a bag of bricks. Which, if you've ever read anything by me BEFORE, you'll notice happens quite a lot. That's where you come in, dear readers! R&R and earn my love forever!

Oh yeah, also: I'm only going to say this once per story, so. I don't own any of these characters or anything. D'uh. Stupid.

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**Chapter One: Oh Sweet Dreaming**

It was fingers and lips and silken skin and heat and it was Heaven. This was angelic chorus, sweet ambrosia; this was what they had so long been wanting/fearing. Lips met, parted, roamed over taught, sweaty skin. Blue eyes met blue eyes, and they were the same, right down to the delicate latticework that framed dark pupils. Same, same, same; they were the same person, and yet not. They were halves, and now they were fitting themselves back into a most perfect and joyous whole.

I love you, oh, how I love you, this fell again and again into the night from voices that blended into one. Oh Fred. Oh George. Please please please please don't ever stop being in love with me.

Never ever Fred/George said. Not ever. I promise.

It was a kiss, it was more. It was fingers and lips and silken skin and heat and it was…

…And it was all a dream. Both twins awoke at the same time, identical eyes opening at once. Both lay very still, unwilling to break free of the dream that had gripped them both. Fred liked this time best, before the reality of the world sunk in and he could still hear George's voice whispering his name, still feel the ghostly traces of George's touch. George always liked the time just before falling asleep the best, when he could hear Fred's gentle breathing so close yet so far away and his mind was free enough that he could imagine so hard that it was real. In this, they were different. In this, they were the same.

"Fred?" It was George who broke the silence. Fred feigned coming to wakefulness, all the time knowing that it was unlike George to be so easily deceived.

"…Yeah?"

"…Nevermind." George had no idea what he had meant to say. Something meaningful, he was sure, something important. It slipped away from his tongue now like a fish darting out of the shallows to safer depths. He could not tell if what he felt was relief or disappointment. Fred sat up on one elbow and looked across the two-foot divide with a puzzled expression on his face. (They had not shared a bed since they turned thirteen—they had given no explanation, just moved apart. Their parents thought they had just outgrown the need for each other's company. Oh, if only.) The puzzlement turned to admiration, and he dropped his gaze blushingly as he realized this. He prayed to any god that would listen that George had not seen. "We should go downstairs and eat, eh?" Fred inwardly sighed with relief. He hadn't seen.

"Yeah, sounds good. Jammy biscuits?" What they ate didn't matter, but Fred was desperate to change his train of thought. George pretended to contemplate this, perhaps understanding without understanding, Fred thought. (In truth, George was just as desperate as he.)

"Peanut-butter on toast," they said together. Fred laughed, and some of the uneasiness the dream always left him with broke up and fell away. They both got out of bed and dressed, carefully averting their eyes from each other while at the same time trying to make it look like that wasn't what they were doing. They clattered down the stairs and their hips brushed with a purple-electric-fabulous crackle.

"Hogwarts today," George said, trying to ignore his hips while his mind was screaming at him, (THEY HAD TOUCHED THEIR HIPS TOGETHER AND IT FELT SO GOOD) "Did you pack?" (…TOUCHED! THEY HAD TOUCHED! OH GOD, OH GOD…! THEY HAD…) He knew the answer—they had packed together.

"Mmhmm," Fred responded noncommittally. His fingers worked nervously over the pocket of his jeans, wanting to stray to that spot on his hip but not allowing themselves to.

"Do you think we'll get a lot of homework this year?" George asked. (…TOUCHED TOUCHED TOUCHED…)

"Mmm." George raised a copper brow.

"I got kidnapped by Martians last night. They anal-probed me. I kind of liked it."

"Hmmm—Wait, what?" Fred squeaked. George's grin was loose and easy. (Much like his pants, Fred's mind interrupted. No, no, bad, bad Fredsie…)

"Just making sure you're listening. Are you okay? You seem kind of… out of it."

"Mmm." Fred rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, sorry. I'm just kind of… distracted."

"By what?" Fred blushed. How could he explain without actually explaining?

"…Just… Dreams." George nodded like he understood. (Did he?) They said nothing more until they were on their way to the platform several hours later, and then it was only harmless comments about the weather and where to sit. Instinctively, they both chose their own compartment. Normally, they would have shared with Lee, but today felt… special to them. Neither could account for it to the other, but they agreed so it didn't matter much anyway. After half an hour, Fred broke out a bag of Bertie Bott's, and George grabbed some chocolate frogs. They shared the snacks in silence until George bit down on a strangely flavoured bean.

"Augh, gross!" he moaned, spitting it out onto the floor. Fred wrinkled his nose and looked at George. "Snot," he explained in a horrified tone. Fred nodded, and then laughed. George stared resentfully at Fred for a moment, but then he joined in. It felt good, they both thought, to laugh together like that. Fred's gaze wandered to the window as he continued to chuckle a little bit.

"Oh, George, you have to see this!" Without thinking, George leaned over Fred's shoulder, his back pressed up against his brother's. Great thunderclouds had gathered on the horizon, making the entire sky look flat and the landscape below look somewhat two-dimensional as well.

"Amazing…" George breathed. It was then that Fred noticed just how close they were. He could feel George's hot breath spill out onto his neck; the hairs there rose. He shivered slightly as he felt the not entirely unwelcome heat of his twin's body at his back. He so wanted to savour this moment, but he was afraid that he wouldn't be able to contain himself, so he reluctantly said George's name.

"What? Oh." Turning a hot shade of red, George backed away and sat down. "Er, uhm… sorry." Fred shook his head and mumbled something that was either "it's alright" or "it's mall-blight". George was almost certain it was the former. They rode in uncomfortable silence for the rest of the trip.

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A/N: So? How was it? I know, I know, it was pretty suck. But please keep reading, as I promise that there's tons of snogging and such. And, as long as no one reports me (snarky! Evil! hiss) I never balk when I have my boys screw. TRUST ME. . So love me for that and keep reading, yes?


	2. This Strange Ailment

A/N: Here I am again, with another chapter. Ah, and if you're indie-inclined and would like a new band to drool over, I highly recommend Soltero ). They're out of Boston, I do believe, and quite good. "Nella Madeline", the first song of theirs I ever heard, is often my inspiration for writing. It suits my mood. 3 If anyone loves them enough to buy the CD, burn me a copy! Haha, I'm kidding, but if you did that would be cooler than a billion and one cool things. And, also, there is chicken stuck in my teeth and I'm having difficulty getting it out because I had wings for dinner about ten minutes ago, while I pretended to do English homework. Isn't that fascinating? But I know what you really want—twincest! So, onward we go! (But don't give up on me if my pacing is a little slower than most fanfics. ; I'm a writer, I can't help it.)

**Chapter Two: This Strange Ailment**

It was two weeks after they settled into their last year of school when it happened. Fred sat alone in the common room, tinkering around with something that he was sure would explode most satisfactorily if only he could get the mixture right. Papers covered with mathematical equations scrawled in his sloppy handwriting were strewn about the overstuffed chair that he occupied. Contrary to what most people believed about the twins, the marvels that they created did not just appear, bam-boom. It required long hours of patience and fairly complex math and spell research—Mrs. Weasley always despaired of telling them that if only they would put forth even half as much effort into studying for their exams, they would be just fine. The last time she had said it, Fred and George had stared at her in unison and informed her without a trace of impudence that they were only good at it because they loved making things so. She shook her head and left them to their work, and the boys never heard of it again.

He had almost finished when George and Lee came in. Lee looked enormously proud of George, whereas George looked green around the gills in addition to something that Fred could not identify. This was troubling. As was the half-unbuttoned shirt George wore this Sunday, which revealed collarbone and smooth expansion of chest. Not enough to get himself in any trouble over it, just enough to tease and frustrate. Fred looked away.

"Hello, Fred," Lee said, settling in on a nearby chair, being careful not to disturb any of Fred's papers. "You should be enormously proud of your brother." Fred raised a copper brow.

"Should I?" He turned around to look at George. "Since when do you do anything deserving of pride?" George snorted, the strange expression from a moment ago gone, and Fred almost relaxed when it quickly returned. Seeing that his brother would remain mute on his "accomplishment", whatever it may be, he turned back to Lee. "So, what did Georgie-Porgie here do?" Lee cast a wicked grin in George's direction. Had Fred been looking at George and not Lee, he would have seen the panicked, begging expression on George's freckled face. Had he wanted to, so would Lee. Neither did.

"He only made out with and is now the boyfriend of one very, very gorgeous Allison McCallister."

Fred's heart stopped beating. (NONONONONONONONONO…!) A sick feeling rose in his stomach, and looked at Lee. "What?" He kept his voice as normal as possible, but some of his horror leaked through. Lee misread this and assured him that he would get a girlfriend soon. (NONONONONONONONONONONONONONO…!) "George?" (PLEASE, PLEASE GEORGE, SAY HE'S WRONG! SAY IT!) George said nothing, but he nodded. Fred was caught between hysterical laughter, tears, and sickness. He chose instead to stand up, scattering things everywhere, and making a quick, unexplained exit. Fred was fairly certain he had left his heart behind, on that chair, in that place in the past where his brother did not have a girlfriend. (Or had George given it to Allison, wrapped up in a box?) The fantasy was strong enough for Fred to conclude that he had. She would wear it as a broach, and Fred would slowly die as she only grew more… more… More whatever George saw.

"Fred?" Lee said in bewilderment. "Fred, where—"

Fred never heard. He was away, through the halls that he barely saw, up the stairs that shifted between his feet as he moved, onto a new flight that caught him as he fell from the old one. The journey was blurred, indistinct. He was sure he heard people say his name, but he couldn't remember what that name was. Was he Fred? He didn't want to be. Fred was a sickened creature that they had forgotten to cull from the litter, and now didn't have the heart to.

He must have taken a turn he had never taken before, or a perhaps a new way opened for him as they were apt to do, for he ended up somewhere new. It was the flat roof of one of the towers. From where he was, he did not know which one. He cared very little, anyway. Stone wall rose up around him, with space for an archer's bow left from the days when the castle was newborn and headstrong, protecting those within both with and without magical aide. It was against this that Fred rested his back. The autumnal blue of the sky had been replaced by a chilly grey that signaled the coming of rain, and of winter. He could see the butts of cigarettes and empty cans of beer scattered here and there, and by these he knew that he was not the only one to seek this place as refuge. (Had he sought it? Or had it sought him, feeling the tug of his stormy heart?) Absently Fred wondered if the others who had come before him and who would come long after had felt the way he did, sick at heart to the point of death, or just a wish for it. Or had they come in an entirely different mood? Had they and would they come to celebrate, perhaps the passing of some far away exam? The alcohol would suggest so, but the place did not have the feel of one of celebration. There was something somber about this lonely tower rooftop, something that permeated the very stone it was made of. Even if they had intended to celebrate, he concluded after a moment, in the end they would remember something (our time is at an end here, what are we to do?) that would drain them of their exaltation.

Fred's pale, cold fingers skittered about the stone and found a mostly-untouched cigarette. He did not smoke, but then again, he also did not care if his brother had a girlfriend, right? Fred lit it and took a long drag, coughing but not caring. He let it dangle carelessly between his fingertips as if he had been smoking for years, a habit picked up from a few of his friends. The smoke he exhaled from his lungs through his mouth and nose swirled up to mingle with the grey air around him.

What was he doing? This was ridiculous, running up here and even going as far as to take up smoking just because his brother had a girlfriend. He should be happy, shouldn't he? Or at the least, jealous of George. He did feel jealousy, but of whom he was not sure. Fred knew Allison, or at least knew of her. She was a Ravenclaw, black haired with dark, bewitching eyes and a figure to make every girl in her House hate her. (Ravenclaw women were infamous for not only having deadly wits, but bodies to match. Even the obsessively preening Slytherins could not compete, and it got quite competitive.) Her pants were also easy, and if Fred knew George (which he wasn't quite sure he did anymore), George would waste no time. Fred clutched his shirt, his chest feeling tight. His hands… and his lips… He would touch her… Going deep inside… Fred felt sick. He wanted to cry, but despite the fact that he knew he was alone and no one would hear, he could not. Fred put the cigarette to his lips and took another drag.

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A/N: So? How was it? I know, this chapter is so weirdly different from the first one, it feels almost entirely disconnected. But I like the way this one is written much better. A word for the wary: I do NOT plan on giving these boys an easy time. They'll have to earn their happiness. So, for all those of you who can't stand to see them fight, or cry, or do stupid things you just know they'll regret (like all human beings in love do), then go read something with less content. This is going to be long, and complicated, and full of heartache. Because I can. I love you all, though, so I'd prefer if you stayed. . R&R, and I'll get to work on chapter three very soon! (Also, isn't the image of Fred smoking on a tower rooftop with a broken heart sexy? I don't know, I think smokers have a lot of visual appeal, especially heartbroken ones because it makes them that much more tragic. Try to picture this in a kind of grey wash—I'm an artist, and you'll love it more if you listen to music like "Nella Madeline" and picture what I'm saying. 3)


	3. Your Name

A/N: Here I am, once more, with chapter three! Oh, I really do love these boys. My head is just stuffed full of things for them to do and say. 3 Most amusing. Hey, a good series for those of you that like both smexy boylovin' and fantasy: Mercedes Lackey's series about Vanyel Ashkevron (those of my readers who already know Lackey's Valdemar novels will know this name), _Magic's Pawn, Magic's Price _and _Magic's Promise._ I'm not sure if they're in that order, but I do know that if you look hard enough you can find them all collected together into a single novel. Vanyel is very, very pretty and angsty and VERY gay. It's lovely. He attempts suicide several times! Yay! The first book is darling and tragic, the middle book is good but not as, and the final novel is simply marvelous, though the ending could have been more satisfying. (Then again, I always hate endings—I want books to go one forever. Haha.) But I do prattle on and on, don't I? Here's where I thank my lovely reviewers:

L'Arc-en-Ciel: You are named after one of my most favouritest bands, I think I'm in love.

Bookworm: The inner thoughts are a must. We all know how sixteen year old boys think… wicked grin And you reviewed twice! Yay!

Ilovefredgeorgesugar: First of all, I love YOUR stories, so it's cool that you like mine. 3 Thanks, you reviewed twice! I love repeat reviewers. It keeps me in touch.

Shellbert: Hmm, it seems everyone loves those! Haha. 3 _Arigatou__ gozaimasu_! AND you reviewed twice! Whee!

BlackOwl892006: I shall.

Jack: THANK YOU! I was hoping it did; I have a problem with that as there are so many things that I want to happen that I tend to skip over the logical, flow-adding parts in between…

Starry Veil: Hmm, really? It's a good thing I don't write to please reviewers (entirely). I happen to think melodramatic smoking boys are sexy, sooo… Deal with it?

Nanashi: Hmm, why are all my reviewers so… concise?

Thequeeneb: Thank you! Yay!

Name Pen: 0o That's uhm… a bit odd-ish. Cool though. Yay, I'm not suck!

And for all those who read and didn't review: shame on you! Really though, I love you all. 3 Ahh, my adoring public… Maybe, if you are very good, I'll draw you a _doujin_version of this. . (For those of you who are not _manga_ fans--you should be, do you have any idea how much slash you could get in the form of PICTURES?—_doujin_are "indie" comics in Japan, generally like fanfiction but with pictures. Cool, ne?)

Onward!

**Chapter Three: This Place You Have Created**

Fred returned, the cigarette left behind but the knowledge that he would return to that somber place and find another hung in the air around him. Lee and George were still there, talking excitedly amongst themselves while they went over the notes Fred had been so laboriously taking only moments before. They did not look up when he came in.

He stood for a moment in the doorway, just watching them. Every few seconds one would laugh or smile or some little gesture indicating that their worlds were still intact. Both of them looked so… happy. It gave Fred the strangest feeling, seeing George smile. He was both delighted that George was happy, and unfathomably sad that George was not smiling at him. Shoving a hand in his pocket, he found another cigarette. He didn't know where it had come from, but that was the thing about Hogwarts in general: things just appeared when you wanted them. He lit it without saying anything. (Fred was fairly certain that there was no smoking allowed in the common rooms, but surprisingly in Griffindor it had never come up. No one that he knew of in the house smoked, and at the very least they didn't enough to want to smoke inside.)

The smoke eventually drifted over to the boys, and Lee wrinkled up his nose. "Hey, what's that—" Looking up, there was Fred. "Fred, you're, er, back." Fred nodded, keeping his eyes on George. His twin turned around with something like hesitation, and stopped when he saw Fred.

"I didn't know you smoked," George said, quietly. His eyes fixed on Fred. Oh, those eyes, those silent accusers, those beautiful… Fred looked away, and as he did so he realized he had never been unable to keep George's gaze before.

"I didn't either," Fred attempted to put some sort of smile on his face while he said this, but it came out a sickly, stillborn thing so he quickly let it drop. For a long time, there was an awkward silence in the room. "So… McCallister?" It was Fred who finally broke the silence. George got that sick look on his face again and shrugged. Clearly, he did not want to discuss Allison. Fred wasn't going to give him the luxury. "She's cute," Fred offered, and George shrugged again as if to say, "I guess so." A long drag on his cig. "Fucked her yet?" he asked, surprised at the bitterness that showed through in his voice. George looked shocked.

"Fred! I only asked her out two hours ago!" George seemed angry. Good. _Did I strike a nerve, Georgie? I hope so. _

"So? Everyone knows that girl's an easy lay…" God, another nail in his coffin, another drag. "Isn't that why you asked her out?" At this, George stood and strode over to Fred, who blew smoke in his brother's face. For a moment, they just stood like this, barely inches apart, breath warming each other's faces. "Isn't it…" Fred said, softly. It wasn't a question, really. George did not reply, and Fred could not stay any longer. "I'm… going to take a shower. Or… something." Abruptly, he turned away and went up the stairs. Fred had originally intended to make good on his statement, until he heard the other people in there already. Damned communal showers. Couldn't he wallow in his misery in peace? So, instead he bypassed the showers for his own warm, soft, safe bed. (Warm, but empty… Empty of whom? It felt like himself, but not himself at all.) Underneath his pillows was his CD player; he pulled it out and put in Arcade Fire's _Funeral._ It helped perpetuate this self-pitying mood he was in.

"Fred." It was George.

_ (They say it fades if you let it, love was made to forget it…)_

"George." Silence, then.

(_I carved your name across my eyelids; you pray for rain, I pray for blindness…)_

It lasted a long time, George standing at the foot of Fred's bed, Fred just watching George. Neither understood the other, and so was at a loss for what to say. They wanted to understand, and be understood, so desperately that it almost came across as a shout (PLEASE, KNOW MY HEART SO THAT I WON'T HAVE TO…)

"Fred, I…" Fred knew then, by the tone in George's voice, that he wanted to talk about Allison. Moments ago, he hadn't wanted to say anything, and now he wanted to explain? No. It would not be allowed.

"Bugger off, George." George's eyes were round, and hurt. Never before had they used such harsh language with each other. "Just… just fuck off." Fred did not look at George. George could not look at Fred. In the end, Fred counted to twenty-three and George walked away while he did so. All Fred saw was the ceiling, and the trail of smoke from his outstretched hand.

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A/N: I'm not sure I like this chapter. In fact, I know I don't. But I didn't want to make you wait for an update, so you guys get this shitty chapter instead of an actually good one. Also, don't hate me as our boys will only get worse before they get better. It has to be that way. I'll shut up now.


	4. Brilliance

A/N: Okay, now, I should say this now: I'm not going to comment on every single review and/or reviewer every chapter, because for the first time since ever I'm getting enough reviews to keep my ego happy and my head full of ideas, and so it would take up way too much space, making me think that I've written much more than I have because most of it was a stupid author's note, thus resulting in shorter chapters for you. Yeah, suck. Also, this is a really, really long chapter not for the faint or fluffy of heart. gasp Yeah, I'm making up for my long span of inactivity, during which I WAS writing… just on paper, using my hands, during study halls and the like. (Mum is easily misled and thinks that just because I have a textbook open and am writing, I'm doing homework.) Where was I going with this? Oh yeah, I just have to comment on ONE SINGLE REVIEWER, because it made me laugh in that it was both praise and chastisement (that I already talked about!) in one. So, thank you, Mizukimarr910. Her review was as follows:

"**wow**** you had better get rid of that cig. real fast because that does not look good in fred's mouth** and is george dating allison to get his mind off of fred? because if he is then that makes since but if he's not that sucks! i love the story but please get the two together really soon. the idea of fred or george being with anyone else in a strictly fred george fic is really wierd. please keep writing and update again soon.

thanx mizukimarr910"

Now, it's the first part that I'm addressing, as D'UH George is dating Allison to get his mind of Fred. And did I NOT mention that it would take them a loooong time to get together? If you want a quick fix, read something else. My dear friend Spoonsharpwit has at least two under her belt, though the newest F/G fic will make you cry. (Well, it made me cry. She's good at that, you know.) Okay, anyway. FRED WILL REMAIN A SMOKER FOR A LONG, LONG TIME. I think smokers are SEXY, which horrible, I know, but it's just true. It's a filthy habit that I'd never pick up myself, but in depressed willowy boys it's just HOT. shrug I think it looks VERY good in Fred's mouth, damnit. So. There that is.

Also, 10 points to whoever can explain my oh-so-clever (not) play on words in this chapter's title. Heh. Last thing: this chapter is where it starts to deserve it's rating. I'm fond of the word "fuck". CULTURAL NOTE: to "bugger" means to give or take it in the ass, so "bugger off" essentially means to go fuck oneself in the ass. Clear? Good. (Because I'm afraid that unless you know that, the phrase won't have the right impact when I use it.)

Ever onward and… slightly to the left!

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Chapter 4: Brilliance

Only when the sun had sunken low enough in the sky that the shadows of the room began to encroach upon his face did Fred arise. The common was empty. It must be dinnertime, down there. Fred wondered if George was eating with Lee, maybe even Allison. Was he happy? Had he been hurt their… whatever that had been? He willed himself not to think of George's smile, slightly crooked and full of mischief, or his laugh, that easy, carefree thing that started in his chest and bubbled up to light his eyes so very beautifully and could pick you up in such as dance as… No, Fred. Bad Fred. Don't think that way.

A red jacket hung over the back of a chair—George's. Fred gently lifted it up. George's warmth still lingered on it. Fred put it on, a little hesitantly, and then left Griffindor Tower to go eat. When he arrived in the Great Hall, he was unsure of whether he felt relief or dejection not to see George. Then again, what could he possibly say to his brother? "I'm sorry"? "I didn't mean it"? No. Fred felt the strangest sense of betrayal, as if George's dating Allison had been a slight against him. No, no, he would not take those words back. "Bugger off, George," Fred said softly to himself with a little awe. Had he really told his other self to go fuck himself in the ass? This world he was creating was full of surprises.

"Oi, Fred!" It was Ron. Fred waved and took a seat, deliberately wedging himself between Hermione and his little brother. Both looked as if they wanted to protest but were too embarrassed to do so. Across the table, Ginny giggled.

"Hello Fred," Harry told Fred distractedly. Following Harry's line of sigh, Fred saw Malfoy giving the boy _looks._ He almost gagged, then remembered what Harry had done last time. The redhead winced in memory.

"Have any of you seen George?" He asked as casually as he was able. They all shook their heads.

"Oh!" Neville looked straight at Fred as he chewed on a slice of soup-soaked bread. "Last I saw him, he was with that McCallister girl." Fred winced slightly at her mention. After a moment, he stood.

"Well, it was nice playing with you kiddies, but I'm off to bed." He bowed foppishly and then was off.

Up the stairs he climbed, using the rhythm of his footfalls to substitute for thought. Thinking led to dangerous places… places he was not ready to go. _Maybe I'll apologize._ …Thmpthmpthmpthmpthmpthmp… _He's cute when he's angry._ …ThmpthmpthmpthmpthmpSTOP. He reached the portrait of the Fat Lady that marked the entrance to the Griffindor common.

"Shuttlecock," Fred said absently. _Did I really just think that?_ The portrait swung open, and he went inside. _That's… not…_ Fred took off George's jacked and walked upstairs to the dormitory, absorbed in his own thoughts. _Oh, god! Please please please don't let me really be in love with— _There were two figures on his bed, and what they were doing was unmistakable. The one on bottom, he realized, was Allison, which mean that the other was…

"—George?" They stopped, and there was this moment where everything was silent and still still still. Fred could not see the other person's face yet. He prayed with all his might to any gods that would listen, that he was wrong, though he knew that silhouette, so dear to him was it… _Please, if there is a God in Heaven, let me be wrong._

"Fred…" George's voice, it was George's voice and oh GOD OH GOD…!

"Fuck." Fred swore quietly. "Fuck fuck fuck…"

"Fred—"

"What is it, George? –Oh, Fred! Gawd, if you're that desperate for the sight of some tits you could have just asked me and I'd—"

"Fuck."

"Fred, please…" George stood up. Fred looked away. "Fre—"

"FUCK." Turn, leave. Run away. Fred, run away, you know that's all you can do now. Run as far way as you can… "FUCK, George!" Anger came, hot and brilliant and it burned away his hurt and betrayal. "On my fucking BED, for Christssake, George! Not even your own! I mean… FUCK!"

"Please, please, Fred, don't yell—"

"What?! You're fucking this twat on my bed, and you don't want me to yell?!" That's it. Hold fast to the anger, to the rage. Anything but the sorrow that'll break you into a million burning pieces. "I—" NO! Do not say that! Do not! Fred made inarticulate raged noises.

"Please…" That last "please" did him in. With a shout, he stormed downstairs into the common room, to be followed minutes later by George, who had the sense to put on pants first. (But not underwear. Goddamned tease, he must know what he's doing!) "Fred! What the Hell is wrong with you?"

"Nothing! Nothing at all!" The click of a lighter as he lit a cigarette. "In fact, the whole world is so fucking peachy, I think I'll dance and sing! Is that what you want to hear?" Fred glared mercilessly at his twin, who looked like a disheveled angel with a halo of fire, beautiful patron saint of innocent confusion and hurt. Damn him.

"No! Damn you, Fred! I want to know what the Hell is going on with you!" George's eyes blazed. Oh, George. So full of beautifully pure emotions. The only thing that isn't warped and ugly now.

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do! Tell me, and tell me the truth, not some bullshit excuse!"

"FINE!" Fred roared. "The truth is, I'm in love with—" he couldn't say it. At Fred's silence, his twin grew angrier.

"Augh, Fred! I'm so fucking tired of the bloody moodswings you've been having lately! If you won't tell me, then go piss off!"

"I will!"

The slamming of doors, the hard clip of wrathful footsteps. Then, Fred was alone. Not just by himself, but alone. He'd messed it up, overreacted. At least he knew now what he felt, thought the knowledge that he was in love with his own twin brother brought little comfort. He went to his rooftop, and screamed himself to sleep.

---

So? Love it? Hate it? Want to be a fairy princess when you grow up? Then review! LOVE AND PEACE!


	5. Anesthetic

A/N: Okay, so here I am, back again for chapter five! I have a feeling that all of you who went, "Geez, she really took it a bit too far when George was screwing that chick" will NOT like this chapter, as I'm going to keep taking this horrible, twisted relationship even closer to the point of no return. 'Cos that's just the kind of fan-hating author that I am. Actually, I love you all, but I keep doing things like this. Why? Is it because I want you to suffer? …Yeah, that's probably it. shrug (You do know I'm kidding, right? …Right?)

Chapter 5: Anesthesia

The silence and emptiness that followed was unbearable for Fred. No longer was there the dependable warmth of his other self. No longer would he feel, late at night, a soft, familiar form crawl under the covers and curl up against his spine, then leave again when the sun arose. He had never known loneliness like this. He had been lonely, yes, but always when it got to be too much, there was George. Not now. Probably never again.

Fred was running on autopilot. He laughed, ate, talked with friends, even. Yet, there was nothing behind these motions of living. No will, no consciousness, drove him. He existed because he loved George. He moved because he hated George. Fred refused to give George the satisfaction of seeing him act hurt. That was just what George wanted, to be able to come and comfort Fred and make everything right again with them. No, no, Fred wouldn't let him. (Part of Fred wondered, later, at what made him think this way, but it was a small one, easily ignored.) So, he moved. But he never played any tricks, and every mealtime found his regular seat empty, the boy himself nowhere to be seen.

Lee, refusing to be caught in the middle of this… whatever it was, simply ignored both of them. Everyone could see that something was wrong, but no one felt it was their place to say anything. The awkward silence perpetuated. Fred drew further into himself. George wrapped himself up in Allison, which caused Fred to stay away from Griffindor Tower for longer and longer intervals.

One day, he never came back at all. Instead, he slept on his tower, all alone and wrapped up in the blanket they had once shared.

-

Fred was in the library, with Hermione nearby. Surrounded by musty tombs of knowledge long-forgotten, Fred sunk into himself. This was a daily ritual, coming here and wallowing in self-pity. Unhealthy, yes, and Fred knew this, but he figured it was not any worse than harboring an un-brotherly love for one's twin.

"That's a good book." The voice that spoke to Fred was unfamiliar. He looked up. So was the face, though he found himself liking this face simply because he had never seen it before. It was a boy, perhaps a year or two older than Fred, wearing Ravenclaw colours. His face was sharp, but beautiful, like a finely-honed razor's edge. Blue eyes underneath thing black brows that arched in such a way to lend the unknown boy an air of amused seductiveness, unbalanced lips fuller below than on top that curled up in the corners, glossy black hair that was carefully tailored for an air of unconcerned messiness, perfectly manicured oval nails; this stranger was everything George was not. Fred found that enticing. Their eyes met for a moment, and in that moment a perfect understanding passed between them. This boy, this utter stranger, _wanted_ Fred. Fred did not _want_ him, but he could, easily. A smile curled both their lips. Fred had been searching for something with which he could hurt George, hurt him so much that it would make George his. He had found it.

"I'm not reading it. Want to go somewhere… else?" The last word hung in the air, a promise of just what they would be doing when they got to that "somewhere else". Stranger smiled at Fred. Fred smiled at Stranger.

"Yours, or mine?" he asked.

"Mine."

-

Fred found that Stranger did not believe in wasting time, which suited Fred just fine. The tower was empty when they arrived, and with no warning Stranger had Fred out of his pants. It took Fred only a little longer to get Stranger out of his. Fred almost laughed aloud when he had—apparently, Fred had much more sex appeal than he had thought. Or maybe sex had more sex appeal than he thought. Obviously Stranger wanted to take charge, and he did, throwing Fred down roughly onto what Fred was fairly certain was George's bed. How perfectly poetic. When Stranger finished what Fred was sure he thought was foreplay, and shoved his way inside, it hurt. It hurt _a lot_. Stranger's rough thrusts only got deeper, harder, faster. Fred bit his tongue, and the warm taste helped him calm down. Absently, he thought that Stranger's face was really very unattractive when twisted with the effort of screwing Fred. It was amazing, though. Through the pain, he could not think of George. He only felt an empty, blissful numbness.

He came, then left. Later Stranger returned with the clothes he had left on the stairs leading to the dorm. Stranger dressed, and Fred watched. He couldn't get up, so Stranger brought him his boxers and a pair of pants. They were George's. Then Stranger sat down next to Fred. For a long time they were silent. Fred knew what Stranger would say. He also knew that it would take him a long time to say it, so while he waited, he lit a cigarette. He offered one to Stranger, who refused.

"Look, this… I mean, what we did…"

"If you wanna do it again, you know where to find me." Fred interrupted. "I'm not expecting a relationship, just because you propositioned me, I accepted, and we fucked." Stranger looked relieved. That amused and irritated Fred. (George would never wear such an expression.)

"Then, I guess I'll leave."

"I guess you will." Fred didn't watch as Stranger walked out the door. As a result, he didn't see George until he was only ten steps away. He looked scandalized, horrified, to see his brother (or did he see himself?) half-naked, smoking. "…Hello, George."

"Who… Who was that?" What was that strange tone he heard in George's voice? Fred did not know, but it was satisfying.

"I'm not sure. I forgot to ask his name," Fred answered his other self flippantly. George shifted from foot to foot.

"…So, what was he…"

"Fucking me." Fred cut him off, eyes blazing a challenge. Say something, Georgie. Go on. I dare you. George's face was… Fred stared. It was terrifying. Then George's face shut down, closed off. That was the single most frightening thing he had ever seen in his life. Fred _could not read_ his twin, not even a little bit.

"…I see." That was all George said. What else? Don't you want to say anything else? Please, say something else. Fred felt a chill settle over the room.

"…George?"

Instead of responding, he left. Not a sound was made until the door clicked shut. Fred sat straight up, then, and put out his cigarette. That was… not what he had wanted. Suddenly, he was aware of how exposed he was. Gathering blankets around him, Fred knew that all that he had left for himself were bloody sheets and a heart of lead.

"George…"

-

A/N: Oh my freakin' gosh! Fred's a WHORE! That's right! I don't know why. The idea occurred to me one day while walking to school. Actually, a scene occurred to me. I probably won't write it out with the way the story is going, so I'll give you the dialogue. This takes place in the Weasley household, I think.

"Fred…"

"What?"

"Fred, I don't really care about your lovelife, but…"

"But what, George?"

(He's angry now) "BUT, it's summer break!"

"AND?"

"Just… GOD, don't bring them home!"

"Why not? You bring Allison."

"That's different."

"How so!"

"We're ENGAGED, Fred!"

"SO? My boys and your FIANCEE serve the same damned purpose!"

(Silence)

"…They're… beautiful." (this is after a long pause)

"…Thank you."

(What they really mean by this is, "I'm sorry I can't love you the way you want me to" and "I am too".)

Fascinating, eh? My walk to school is long and boring. Anyway, chapter six is really short, because I wanted to get to chapter seven, which as, drum roll please, TWINCESTUAL SEX! Wooooah. RR, and I love you all!


	6. Stupid

A/N: Well, here I am again, folks! I'll keep this brief, since this is really just a filler chapter. Heh. It's almost kind of necessary, but not really. At all. I mostly wrote it so I'd have put up something really quickly… but then I finished writing the first part of the next story arc without typing it up… Uhm. But still! You get to read it, anyway.

Chapter 6: Stupid

"Stupid George." A stone dropped into the lake with a plop. They had gotten into another fight that morning after the latest in a long line of Strangers had left Fred's bed. In an attempt to regain a little of the closeness that they had once enjoyed, Fred had asked George to go to Hogsmeade with him. The trouble had started quite soon after that.

-

"So, we'll all go the Shrieking Shack, right?" George had seemed happy enough that Fred had asked, so perhaps… Perhaps there was hope for them after all?

"Yeah, and then…" Fred paused and looked a George, curled up on a chair. "Wait, 'all'?"

George looked up. Red hair flopped over one of his eyes. "Of course. You, me…" He looked absolutely delicious, Fred just wanted to grab him and pull him close and… "…and Allison." Fred snapped out of his daydream of ravishing his brother at her name.  
"You… invited Allison?"

"Well… Yeah, Freds." George looked confused. Ha! He would bring _that woman_, wouldn't he? "I mean…" There, George paused for a moment. "She is my…"

"I don't want her to come," Fred interrupted sharply. He didn't want George to say… To say that word. George looked offended at Fred's rejection of Allison.

"Hey, I said that one of your boyfriends could come, too!"

"They aren't boyfriends," Fred shot back harshly. "Don't call them that." The only one I would ever call that is you, George. Only you.

"Then, what's the problem, Fred!" George cried out. He sounded miserable. Oh, poor Georgie. Are you really so upset over me? Fred scrutinized his twin. He hadn't really noticed it before, but George was looking a little paler, the circles under his eyes a little darker and more prominent. Had he been sleeping at lately, since that time? Internally, Fred sighed.

"…Nothing, George. You go ahead and bring her." Fred turned his head away as he said it.

-

"Stupid, stupid, STUPID George!" Fred threw stones until he couldn't find any more, until there was dirt caked under his nails from scrabbling against the ground, until his chest was heaving. "Stu…pid…" Tears made tracks in a dirty face. "I only wanted… to go with you…"

-

A/N: See? I told you, a filler. Please RR! …I have nothing more to say! Vamoose! Scat! … -wanders away-


	7. Kisu to Kizu

A/N: Aaaah, now here we're getting to the good parts. I'm really excited and happy to be working on this part of the story. I hope you all like it! --bows-- You may notice that this arc has a Japanese title… I'm sorry! I realize not everyone knows Japanese, when I wrote this I was just calling it "the Hogsmeade arc", but that really isn't a very good title at all! So, as a result, when it came time to type it up I was stuck! "Kisu to Kizu" is a pun, meaning "kisses and wounds". The pun is that "kisu" and "kizu" would be written with very nearly the same syllabic characters in Japanese… n.n; Eheheh. (That's not very clever, Z!)

So, for all of you who thought that the last chapter was too short, fear not! This one is reaaaaally long. However, this arch is NOT for the faint or fluffy of heart… I don't know why I get a kick out of torturing Fred as much as I do, but… well… --shrug-- I just do! Heh. So, this does come really close to have sex in it, but then it… well… doesn't. Not really, anyway. So. Uhm. Enjoy the pain?

Ah, yes, and I want to thank all of my reviewers! I've gotten so many reviews, demanding me to update…! (That's really amazing!) Doumo arigatou gozaimasu, minna-san! Thank you very much everyone! I really need your encouragement and support… It makes me feel so good when I open up my mailbox and there is even one review waiting for me. n.n (Brings a tear to my eye… --sniffle--) Let's try and make it to one-hundred reviews, shall we? Ganbarre! Good luck!

Chapter 7: Kisu to Kizu

"Oooh, Georgie! Look at this!" Fred hid a look of disgust behind a particularly large bit of confectionary. How could a woman so vapid have gotten into Ravenclaw? Actually, Fred could tell that everything Allison did was a carefully calculated act. George had fallen for it completely. How revolting. They were looking at candy at Allison's behest, though truth be told Fred had wanted some chocolate frogs, anyway. Fred was just waiting until they went to the Three Broomsticks, so he could indulge in large quantities of spiked butterbeer.

Fred snuck a glance at his brother. George had this look of patient tolerance on his face, overlaid by a thin veneer of feigned interest. _Ha. Seems like George isn't any more interested in Allison's "finds" than I am._ He chuckled. The sound drew George's attention and Fred had to quickly turn away and pretend he found the nutrition label on a jar of Bertie Bott's absolutely absorbing.

"Hey, Fred, let's go to the Shack." George made the suggestion as they exited the shop. Fred stiffened. George must know what the Shack was used for.

"Oooh, but Georgie—" how dare she use a nickname for his George "—It's so scary!" George laughed and Fred rolled his eyes. She probably just didn't want to go with him hanging around. Too bad, Miss McCallister. I'll never let you get close to my darling brother while I'm around.

"Then… you stay here, and we'll go." Fred's head snapped around and he stared hard at George. What was going on here? Allison pouted at being left alone, but soon relented when she knew that she definitely would not be picked over Fred. Fred was certain she could find a way to entertain herself. "Come on, Fred. Let's go." He was only too glad to follow his twin up the long, winding path to the Shrieking Shack.

"George…" Fred hesitated at the doorway. "Why… did you bring me here?" His twin turned and regarded Fred carefully.

"You didn't want Allison to come, so… I figured… you had something to say to me." Fred stared at George. George stared into Fred. The measurement in that glance made Fred shift uncomfortably.

"I—" love you. "I mean—" I always have and always will. "I'm… sorry." George said nothing. "About the way I've been acting lately, I mean." Silence. "Christ George, say something!"

"I'm glad." George's voice came out of the gloom. He turned, and Fred felt his insides melt at the power of that smile that he had never thought to see directed at him again. "Can we go to the Three Broomsticks now?" Fred laughed and said that they could, indeed.

Three hours and far too many drinks later, Fred was happy. A warm golden feeling had settled over him after his third drink. Not even McCallister sitting on his precious brother's lap, covering his face, throat and chest with sloppy, drunken kisses could dim this feeling. George was beautiful, laughing at nothing particularly funny. His eyes were half-lidded with sleepiness, an inebriated smile curving his lips. Soft, full lips… Suddenly, Fred really wanted George. In this state, his mind told him that he could have him.

Fred stood shakily, leaning against the rough wood of the table. "Georgie," he almost whined. "Please, could you come with me?"

What happened next would change them forever.

Fred took George's hand and pulled him up to an empty room. "Georgie, Georgie," Fred said with urgency in his voice. George giggled. "Georgie, I have… I need to…" Without a word more, Fred pressed his mouth over his brother's. George's whole body tensed up and then relaxed. Fred let his tongue roam around inside George's mouth. It was hot, melting Fred down into his base elements, and all of those elements screamed that THIS was heaven; you didn't have to die to get there. Their bodies pushed up against each other. They kissed long enough to almost asphyxiate, and then Fred pulled away, panting. "Georgie, I love you."

"I know, I love you too…" George was bright red, though from the kiss or the alcohol, Fred did not know.

"No, I mean—" his protests were silenced with a fierce kiss from George. All he wanted to do was take him, claim him, make him his forever. Fred's hands went up underneath George's shirt, caressing the soft, smooth flesh. George's body still smacked of youth, with a slender but ill-defined chest. To Fred, it was the most beautiful thing to ever have been created. George's breathing became heavier. It was becoming difficult for Fred to contain himself to just kissing George's mouth. Long, calloused fingers moved over George's back, around his shoulders and to his chest, where they drew lazy, concentric circles around his nipples. "Georgie," Fred murmured into the mouth of his twin. "Oh, Georgie, you're beautiful." George only panted in reply. Hesitating only a little, Fred drew back and rid the both of them of their shirts. George's breath caught and his blood quickened. Fred's chest, hard and smooth, was faintly dotted with burn scars, healing scratches and wounds in rainbow colours. With his hair falling over eyes staring so intently, there was a fierceness in him that made him all the more attractive.

Fred moved forward and placed a hot, lingering kiss just below George's ear, on his throat, at his collarbone. His lips grazed George's skin as they traveled down his chest, lingered over pink nipples. Fred let the edges of his teeth run along the defenseless bud of flesh, making George groan above him.

"Mmm… do that again." George purred. "Only a thousand times harder." Fred hesitated.

"I don't… I mean, it's going to hurt, do you…?" George nodded vigorously. Fred was only too happy to oblige. His twin arched his back and made a delicious noise in his throat. Fred's tongue traced a line along the center of George's body down to the waistband of his pants, then back up to his waiting mouth.

"Oh Freddy," George gasped. "Fuck me." The two words jarred Fred, knocked him from his pleasant daydream. He was all at once very aware that George was amazingly drunk. To have sex with him now would be taking advantage of him. Could he really violate his own dearest brother, possibly harming him irreparably, just because George was intoxicated enough to let him?

"No," Fred said softly, thought he had meant to be much more forceful. Gently, slowly, he disentangled himself from a rather confused George. "No, I won't."

"Why?" George pushed himself against Fred once more, trying to kiss his neck again. Fred pushed him away, noticing now that his breath smelled of alcohol. "Don't you want me, Freddy?"

Fred swallowed hard. "Yes, Georgie, very much." It was almost a whisper.

"Then do me!" George made a grab for Fred, who pulled roughly away. Again George tried, and this time Fred pushed him into the wall.

"No!" Fred's voice was rough.

"You'll do it with God only knows how many of them, but not with me?" George lunged, Fred pushed away even harder than before.

"Stop it!" he shouted. "Stop!" George looked bewildered and angry. "I won't! I won't have you!" Fred's voice cracked. "Not like this!" Fred dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. When he drew them away, he turned his eyes on George. George was so damned drunk. Fred could see it now, in the unsteady way that he leaned against the wall and the bleariness of his gaze. He could see it, and it hurt. "Georgie," he begged, as George sat down on a nearby chair. Fred collapsed on his knees and placed his forehead onto George's lap. "Georgie, Georgie." His face, buried in George's leg. Fred lifted his head and stared pleadingly into his twin's face. One rough hand reached up to tenderly stroke that face. "I…care about you, George, so much, but the only time you'll come to me is when you're so drunk you can barely see straight. That hurts, Georgie! It hurts…" Fred hid his face in George's lap once more. What was he even saying? "I try, and I try… but you, you…! I'm trying… so hard…" Fred only realized that he had been crying when he stopped.

Fred pushed himself up. "I'm sorry, Georgie…" That display had been dangerous, and had cost him much. The horror of how close he had been to saying what must not be said dawned upon him then. There, in that empty, settling room, with its shabby furniture smelling faintly of piss and alcohol despite the staff's best efforts, Fred had nearly divulged the secretive darkness that grew in his wicked heart to that most precious person. George… George was looking at him. Oh, oh no… Had he said too much? What would he do if… if… What if…

A hand. Trembling, feather-light, but still the touch of a hand on his face. George's hand.

That dark, forbidden desire leaned forward and placed the softest kiss in all history on his lips. Startled, Fred did nothing at first. It was only when George deepened the kiss that Fred could act, responding at first with enthusiasm but then breaking off, puzzlement showing plainly on his face. George sighed in frustration. "I think you're beautiful, and I want you. I really, really want you. Can't I have you?" When Fred said nothing, George took that as an invitation and laid a lingering kiss upon his neck.

It was George now who became the aggressor, taking control and unbuttoning Fred's jeans. He moved with almost painful hesitancy and slowness, as if he thought that he would frighten Fred away. It was both unfathomably touching and immensely irritating at once, for while Fred really just wanted George to touch him, and NOW, it made his heart clench to think of what his care might mean. When George's fingers brushed up against Fred's hard cock, Fred had to bite back a gasp. George almost misinterpreted this as fear rather than pleasure, but when he made to move his hand, Fred stayed him. Need burned in his eyes as he held George's gaze. He wanted this touch, more than he had ever desired or could desire anything else. "George," was all that Fred said, but it gave George the incentive to continue.

Time bent and buckled, and Fred soon found himself engulfed in the wet, silken tunnel of George's throat. It was almost too much to bear; Fred's fingers scrabbled for something to hold onto but found no purchase on the smooth wall. Instead, George's own warm hands grabbed his. Fred clutched at them tightly. The motion of George's tongue against him, the faint feel of George's hair against his belly, even just the heat that radiated off of his twin, these were the things that he dreamt of, night after night. When he came, it was as if all the loneliness and pain of the past left him as well.

George drew away and they kissed languorously. I love you, I love you, I love you. Every part of Fred's body hummed with the sentiment. George's hands were in his hair; their chests pressed close… Fred had found heaven, had found ecstasy, had found…

"…George?"

They broke apart and turned their heads. In the doorway stood Allison.

A/N: Haha, what a cliffhanger, eh? Ooooh, but wait until you see what I have lined up for this arc… I'm such an evil, evil person! Poor Freddy, to be my plaything… Anyway, I hope the length wasn't too much of a burden… I know a lot of you are probably foaming at the mouths now going, "What the hell! That wasn't a sex scene—why, that was barely even a frickin' BLOWJOB!" And I know. I'm actually not very good at writing sex scenes, so I'm going to dither around and put it off until the last possible second. I'm afraid you must simply be patient—it's not easy when you start blushing even though no one is around, you know. So, everyone, please… R&R, and I'll see YOU next chapter!


	8. Kisu to Kizu Part Two

A/N: I'm so, so sorry for my long hiatus. I've been getting a rather lot of reviews lately, telling me that you're probably all foaming at the mouths, right? I'm sorry! It's really amazing, though, to get five reviews every day. Truly, I appreciate it. I think I rather owe you a vague sort of explanation, so bear with me. (Or, you could always go, "fuck this chick and her annoying-ass talking, gimme twins" and skip this note. Haha.) Anyway. So, reason number one is partially my boyfriend. He, though I love him very much, thinks that Harry Potter fanfiction and doujin are sad and pathetic at best, downright horrible at worst. He teases me to no end, which kind of turned me off from this fic for a while. Also, I had written up a rough draft of this chapter, but while the beginning turned out as I wanted, it rather fizzled out at the end, and I've been dithering around in trying to think of something that doesn't suck. So what's changed? Nothing, really, except all of those reviews were really actually very encouraging and made me feel all fuzzly (yes, I'm a dork), and also I realized that the best way for me to get a chapter written is to just… write it. (This is partially why the quality is so inconsistent—I never, ever do any editing. Really.)

NOW! On to the reviewers! First, I would like to that Diglossia, who is the only person to give me constructive criticism on anything I've written, ever. BluX, Hellbourne Alchemist, theinfamousredflag, xThe-Ravenx (I'm glad to be a distraction), 24ALL, Neoneo, Shellbert, treana, L'ArcenCiel, Jobob Fredyson, vote-larry4prez, LeftyHiggins, chochick89, lmmeccreammbbdc, CrazyAlchemistgrl017, sunstreake and anyone else I missed, thank you all so so much! It's really the reviews that keep me going, and y'all know it. I'd like to say I'm very pleased that about half of you revile Fred's smoking and the other half either like it or don't care. It's really what I wanted. (That, and as I said before, evil influences have taught me that smokers are sexy. Visually only, they're horrible to kiss. Blech.)

Suggested Soundtrack: Bright Eyes (Digital Ash in a Digital Urn) (And am I the only one that thinks he sounds like the guy from Modest Mouse on this CD?)

Chapter 8: Kisu to Kizu (Part Two)

Fred should have known better than to think that he and George would end up happily in love. He should have, but he didn't.

"George?" Allison looked so small as she trembled against the doorframe. Her eyes were wide and glassy, her hair in a dark cloud around her face. "George?" If she hadn't been his precious brother's girlfriend, Fred might have been moved to pity for the sorrowful creature. She was, and so he felt nothing. Fred's sweaty fingers clutched more tightly against George's.

"Allison." The name was barely audible as it fell from George's lips. The average name took on a strange quality when George said it, a quality that Fred didn't understand. It made his stomach lurch. Fred wanted to pull George close to his chest and hold him there, tighter than tight, but something inside of him told him that it would all end if he did that.

"What are…? What did you two just do?" Allison swallowed; George echoed the motion with Fred watching his Adam's apple bob up and down. It was a perfect motion, a George motion. George refused to look at either of them. A long silence passed, during which Fred grew angry. Why was George so silent?

"He sucked my dick," he snapped, his crude choice of words betraying his feelings more than his tone. Allison's eyes got wider and she looked to George as if to ask him if it were true. George said nothing but his very silence spoke volumes.

"You… You… Pervert!" That word, which normally had no force at all, seemed a slap in the face now when spoken by the increasingly hysterical girl at the doorway. "He's your brother! Your _twin_ brother! Oh, God!" She crumpled in the doorframe like a marionette that had just been dropped by a careless puppeteer. When she began to cry, her expression was so like the one that Fred had so often that his heart broke. Would this selfish love destroy them all? As much as he hated her for having George in a way Fred knew he never could, she didn't deserve this. She was easy, she had slept around, but she did love George. How must she feel now…? A sick feeling crept into Fred's stomach when he realized that he knew. He, too, had felt it. A selfish, selfish love.

"Allison, don't cry…" George begged, clearly torn between going to his girlfriend's side and remaining with his brother. Fred's heart ached for Allison, but he still hoped that George would stay with him. How could he not? "Allison…" The heart in Fred's chest stopped beating. All at once, he understood that strange quality in George's voice when he said her name and the curious hollow ache in his chest. It was _love._ A sweet, tender love the likes of which Fred had never heard in George's voice when he spoke _his _name. No, he couldn't! He couldn't do this…! Fred wanted to scream but it died stillborn on his lips.

George stood, his hand slipping away from Fred's. He had made his choice. And, Fred knew as he began to walk across the room, that choice had not been him. George wrapped his arms around Allison's shaking shoulders and stroked her hair, quieting her. _No! Don't touch her! Don't touch her like that!_ Fred wanted to cry but did not. George and Allison stood to leave. As they crossed the threshold, George gave Fred a forlorn glance over his shoulder before walking out. Fred knew he would not come back.

"George!" Fred screamed, finding his voice at last and running to the door. "George! Goddamnit, don't do this to me! George!" Fred was sobbing and the patrons were staring. "GEORGE!" Fred fell to the floor.

George had not chosen him.

A/N: Okay, this was a shooooooooooooooort chapter. Possibly the shortest chapter in the history of short chapters. But I thought that this was a good place to end for now, yeah? Anyway. A note about that final paragraph: when you read that, it's a very raw, horrible scream. Try to imagine it ripped from Fred's throat, if you will. I would have added that detail, but it would have ruined the flow. (Not that there was much of one, anyway, but… I didn't want to wreck what little I had. )


End file.
